


I Could Have Another

by laurenkinn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenkinn/pseuds/laurenkinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to bring alcohol onto an airplane.  Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Have Another

“Dean, how many times have I told you that you can’t bring alcohol on a flight?”  I say as I walk through the door and notice a bottle sticking out of Dean’s suitcase.

“Probably a lot.  I can’t remember.  How many have I already had?”  I hear from behind me.  Dean comes staggering into the foyer of the apartment, holding a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

“Well, how many did you have while I was picking up your Dramamine?”

“Can’t remember that either.”

Yeah, that’s how it always goes.  Whenever we have to go on trips, it’s the same routine:  I tell Dean no alcohol, even though he’s already drunk, and then I have to carefully pry a bottle from his fingers and remove however many he’s hidden in his luggage.  Every time, without fail.  Dean thinks it’s funny, I think it’s just annoying.

“Alright, well, we have to get going,” I say, ignoring my feeling of deja vu while I take the beer from him and place it on the counter.  “Why don’t you start loading things into the car?”  Dean grunts and picks up my bag; I smile, slapping his ass as he walks out the door. Works every time.

 

 

We’re nearly up to the bag check when I realize I never searched through Dean’s bag for any remaining alcoholic stowaways.  Suddenly our choreographed routine before flights feels a little foreign to me and I panic.  I have never, ever forgotten to check.  Dean is such a nervous flier, he _always_ tries to bring something to calm his nerves.  I turn to Dean, who is a lot more sober now, and he looks at me blearily.

“What?” he says groggily, rubbing the back of his head.

“How many bottles did you hide in your bag?” I whisper hurriedly, realizing that we aren’t going to have time to step out of the line without looking extremely suspicious.  Dean blinks at me and closes his eyes.

“Uhh, just the one, I think,” he replies.  I feel my stomach do a flip flop of relief.  I took out the beer I had noticed sticking out.  That must have been the only one.  

As my turn in line comes, I place my bags into the provided plastic bins, then walk through the metal detector slowly.  My bags come out the other side, and I gather them and turn to wait for Dean, who has put his bags into bins as well and is coming out the other side of the detector behind me.  He is just reaching for the luggage when the woman reading the x-ray monitor says, “Um, sir?”

I swear my heart stops for a good five seconds.

A guard turns around and looks over the woman’s shoulder at the monitor, then slowly looks up at Dean.  “Sir, is that a bottle of alcohol in your bag?” the man asks incredulously, already moving to unzip it.  Dean’s face remains stoic and I swear he looks _almost_ guilty.

“No sir, it can’t be,” he lies easily.  “Who brings alcohol onto a plane?  It must be shaving cream.”

“Well,” the guard says, looking into Dean’s bag and pulling out a big bottle of whiskey that is half empty, “I had hoped you were right, but I think I’ll be confiscating this and you’re going to have to come with me.”

I feel myself starting to panic.  When I look over at Dean, I can tell he’s perfectly calm and collected, which makes me panic a little more.  That look can only mean one thing:  Dean is about to do something incredibly stupid.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean says coolly to the security guard.  “It is probably something that fell in or I was hiding from my boyfriend over there.”  Of course Dean waves at me to further his point.  I give him a tight smile.  “I just don’t feel as though I need to be arrested for this.  Can we just throw the bottle away and carry on with our days?”

Well, that was smooth.  I glance at the guard, hoping Dean’s impassioned speech will have convinced him not to make an arrest, but the man is shaking his head.

“No, sir, I’m afraid I can’t make any exceptions.  This is airport protocol.  Please come with me.”  He reaches for Dean’s arm, and I cringe.  Yeah, this is definitely not going to go well.

“Dean,” I say in warning, but I’m too late.  Everything turns to slow motion as I watch Dean snatch the bottle from the guard and begin to chug the half that’s leftover.  Everyone in the vicinity seems frozen to the spot as much as I am; the woman at the monitor can’t seem to close her mouth, the security guard’s eyes are about to pop out of his head, and everyone behind us seems enraptured by this unforeseen turn of events.  When Dean finally finishes and hands the bottle back to the bewildered guard, someone further back begins clapping.  Then someone else joins.  Then another.  A few seconds later, it seems as though the entire airport is clapping and cheering.  Dean turns and winks at me, then zips his bag back up and salutes the guard as he walks away.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, snaking an arm around my waist.

“Dean, what the fuck,” I hiss, but a swift kiss helps my anger simmer down.

“I just took a shot and hoped it wouldn’t miss,” Dean explains, grinning down at me.  

“God,” I mumble, hiking my bag further up onto my shoulder and quickening my step.  “Let’s just get on the plane.”

“Fine by me,” Dean says, and I jump as he squeezes my ass.  “Payback for earlier,” he murmurs, making me blush.  It’ll be an interesting flight.


End file.
